


Goodnight My Angel

by ConniptionCrazy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And copious amounts of Billy Joel, Gen, It's an anniversary fic, M/M, Pre-Slash, There are a lot of mama stilinski feels in this one, cry some more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConniptionCrazy/pseuds/ConniptionCrazy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody remembers Stiles' mother. Stiles is a lot like her. It's the anniversary of her death today, and Stiles can't get that old lullaby out of his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodnight My Angel

Isaac remembers Stiles’ mother. He remembers her because she always had a nice smile for him, and sometimes she brought him cookies when she brought Stiles to visit the Stilinski plot (which wasn’t very big, mind you, only consisting of Stiles’ father’s side of the family). His dad was always horrible afterwards- not anywhere near the abuse he would later put Isaac through- but Isaac never held it against them. He loved Stiles’ mother just like she was his own, and she certainly acted like it, calling him ‘pumpkin’ and letting him run around with Stiles and play hide-and-seek among the gravestones as she paid her respects.

 

Isaac doubts that Stiles remembers any of that, but they are memories that he holds close to his heart.

 

He likes to think that she would have known. That she would try to protect him. But it’s just his imagination, or a dream. A really good dream. It would have been nice, to have a mother like her. Stiles was lucky, and Isaac hates that she had to be taken from the world so soon in their lives. It wasn’t fair.

 

But Isaac’s familiar with things being unfair.

 

Stiles is like her, he thinks. All big smiles, nothing kind held back, with a joke and quick wit at the ready. Stiles gives good hugs, just like her, too. Stiles is warm like her, and a little pudgy around the middle that makes him good for cuddling. Not that Isaac would ever tell him that, even though Stiles would probably laugh it off eventually.

 

Nevermind that the way he bakes his cookies is the same, too.

 

-=-

 

Scott remembers Stiles’ mother. She was the one who got them together in the first place, chatting with Scott’s mom in the grocery store as Stiles and Scott sat in the carts and stared at each other before trying to sneak pudding cups into the pile of groceries each mother had already gathered.

 

It hadn’t worked, of course, but it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

 

Stiles’ mother was like Scott’s second, and she always made sure that Scott had a ride home from school when Melissa had to pull an extra shift at the hospital. Scott remembers her staying until Melissa got home, sometimes making dinner if she was late. He and Stiles played a lot on those days, if they didn’t have homework. And if they did, Stiles’ mom always made them sit down and do it; despite the fact that it was very difficult to get Scott and Stiles to sit down in the same room together for any length of time and focus on something like homework.

 

He remembers her funeral. Scott has never seen Stiles look so utterly broken, never since that day. And there’s always a darkness behind his best friend’s eyes that he doubts Stiles is conscious of. Like the pain is right under the surface and could always rear its ugly head. It hit Scott hard, her death, but it hit Stiles harder.

 

-=-

 

Derek remembers Stiles’ mother. She’s a fuzzy face in his memory. Dark hair, light skin, a few moles on her neck and cheeks- like Stiles.

 

He only has one real memory of her, if he could even call it that.

 

He was in the grocery store and Laura had wandered off. It was just after the fire, before they left for New York. Not that they had known they were going to New York yet, they had just wanted to flee, but Laura insisted on provisions which meant comfort food. Derek had been left standing awkwardly in the freezer section, still empty and numb and coldcoldcold.

 

Stiles’ mother had come up, a little mini-Stiles playing imaginary hop-scotch in her wake. She’d gripped his arm, making him look at her with rage because- because that was all he could feel.

 

But then he’d met her eyes. Her warm, honey-brown eyes so filled with concern and hurt for him. She hadn’t said anything. She hadn’t needed to. Derek understood, or he thought he did. She didn’t think he deserved what happened to his family, and how it affected him.

 

And on nights when the guilt became too much, when Derek wanted to jump off the side of a skyscraper just to see how long it would take for his body to put itself back together when he hit the bottom, those eyes would come back to him. And he would retreat back to his and Laura’s apartment to live another day.

 

He remembers how it felt like a punch in the face when he learned she was dead.

 

-=-

 

She liked old music. Stiles remembers that about her. Billy Joel, Elton John, Bob Marley, those artists. Her favorite flowers were sweet peas. She liked how many different colors they could be, and she liked to try and draw them. She didn’t think her drawings were any good, but Stiles still has some. They’re the most beautiful things he’s ever seen.

 

She never minded playing with army men and action figures instead of Barbies and ponies. She never teased him when he wanted to play Indians versus Robots and she had to be the Robot Overlord because Stiles was obviously the best Indian Chieftain, and he had to protect the most beautiful Indian Princess- Lydia (Usually represented by a stuffed animal because stuffed animals were the girliest thing Stiles owned, and even then they were pretty damn manly teddy bears and stuff).

 

Stiles remembers what she’d sing to him when he couldn’t sleep. Sometimes he still hums it, under his breath when he’s panicking and nothing else is working. Sometimes when he’s tossing and turning in bed, or when he gets lost in his own head cooking or doing the dishes.

 

Goodnight my angel, time to close your eyes

And save these questions for another day

I think I know what you’ve been asking me

I think you know what I’ve been trying to say

I promised I would never leave you

Then you should always know

Wherever you may go, no matter where you are

I will never be far away

 

He remembers the car crash. It was his fault- he’d started the argument. Stiles doesn’t remember what it was over anymore, but he hopes it was something important. There’s a nasty part of his mind that reminds him that it probably wasn’t. Stiles was in the backseat because she insisted, and that was probably what made him escape with only bumps and bruises.

 

But his mom wasn’t so lucky.

 

They kept her in the hospital for four months. She was in a coma, they said. Stiles went in and held her hand, his dad with him. And when the Sheriff went out to go to the bathroom, Stiles hummed softly to his mother, the song she always sang to him, as if to try and wake her up. To make her get better.

 

But she passed away. There was nothing the doctors could do.

 

Stiles never felt the same. He would turn around to tell her something and she wouldn’t be there. He’d think he heard her at night and then he would remember. His dad was a mess and Stiles was doing his best to keep them together. Recently, though, he didn’t seem to be doing a fantastic job of that.

 

Stiles likes to think that she would be proud of him. For facing werewolves and kanimas and witches and trolls and, most recently, goblins. For facing them and winning, with his friends. She would be proud of him for maintaining his perfect grades all throughout it, too. But she probably wouldn’t be so proud of him for lying to his dad. For keeping him in the dark.

 

But Stiles has to do that. To protect him. To make sure that his job isn’t harder than it already is with Stiles on his hands.

 

It’s raining. How appropriate. Stiles brought an umbrella, though, so it doesn’t matter, really. He hasn’t opened it, letting the rain soak him through. It feels good. It’s not hard to find her grave. What’s hard is avoiding Isaac. Considering he kind of lives here. Or would, if he wasn’t ‘a runaway’. Still. Stiles knows he comes around here anyway.

 

There it is. Stiles kneels down, smiling nervously at the headstone. He’s only been here a few times, when he wanted to hide from Scott with the half-childish hope that Scott would actually find him and it would be all very dramatic and Stiles would win whatever they were arguing about. But Scott was a little dense so that had never happened.

 

“Hi.” He croaks. Okay. Better start than nothing.

 

He wonders what to tell her. It’s not like she doesn’t know how much stuff has changed since the last time he came to see her. Or, that’s the way Stiles looks at it. Maybe he should tell her about Derek. Or about how he’s finally going to tell his dad at some point within the next week. Mostly because his hand is kind of being forced, but you know.

 

Stiles isn’t sure how long he sits there. It’s a long time. The rain’s turned into a torrential downpour and back to sprinkling before he becomes aware of himself again. Or, more specifically, aware of someone else.

 

Stiles looks up.

 

Derek looks down.

 

“You’re getting wet.” Stiles notes.

 

Derek shrugs, hands in the pockets of his jacket. His hair is plastered to his face, some of it on the top of his head resolutely sticking up. All of his clothes are either dark with water or slick with it. He’s not looking at Stiles anymore, instead looking at her gravestone.

 

“What’re you doing out here?” Stiles asks, standing.

 

“Looking for you.” Stiles wonders why he was expecting any sort of actual explanation.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because it was raining and nobody knew where you were.”

 

“Ergo it’s your job to look for me?” Stiles raises an eyebrow.

 

Derek makes a noncommittal noise and shrugs again, looking away, into the woods around the graveyard. For once Stiles can find nothing to say to that and slides his hands into his pockets, standing. He feels strangely comfortable with Derek there. Maybe he is expecting Derek to leave at some point. But neither of them are moving and it’s just them, the rain soft around them and gradually stopping, until it’s just overcast so much that it looks like dusk.

 

Derek shifts closer to him, and Stiles definitely isn’t expecting it. But he stays still. It takes twenty minutes of incremental shifting, but soon, Derek has his whole side pressed up against Stiles. And maybe Stiles has moved towards Derek a little, too. The warmth of the alpha seeps into Stiles through his left side, making his bones and muscles ache as the cold ebbs away gradually. Stiles’ first instinct is to bury closer, but he doesn’t.

 

“My mom used to make apple pie.” Derek’s voice rings out over the pattering rain, and Stiles jumps a little. “Every Monday, so that Mondays sucked less for Laura and I.” He’s looking at another part of the graveyard, where Stiles can only presume the other Hales are buried. “It wasn’t that great, because she wasn’t good at baking, but I always ate half of it.” Derek shifts. “She didn’t take anyone’s bullshit. Ever. And she was scary when she was pissed off.” His voice has quieted, but Stiles can still hear it.

 

“She sounds cool.” Stiles feels like he should say something. He’s surprised to find he means it.

 

“She was.” Derek’s head dips in a weird bobbing movement that Stiles has noticed he does sometimes, like a movement left over from when he was a Beta.

 

Not submissive, but agreeing in a way that’s different from any other way. It’s, like, the original motion for an agreement, if there is such a thing. Derek looks like he should be scuffing his shoe at the same time, even though he doesn’t.

 

Stiles clears his throat.

 

“Goodnight my angel, now it's time to sleep

And still so many things I want to say

Remember all the songs you sang for me

When we went sailing on an emerald bay

And like a boat out on the ocean

I'm rocking you to sleep

The water's dark and deep, inside this ancient heart

You'll always be a part of me.”

 

It’s not exactly singing, but it’s close enough. Stiles falls silent with embarrassment, because Derek’s looking at him with this unreadable expression, like he’s not sure what to make of that.

 

“You’re pretty good.” Derek says finally. For once, the compliment doesn’t sound like it’s being pulled from somewhere deep inside Derek. “When you’re not being a dork.” He nudges Stiles’ shoulder, but even the tease is half-hearted.

 

Stiles understands.

 

“Thanks.” He nudges back, half-shrugging at the same time. “She used to sing it to me. When I was a kid.” He nods at the gravestone. “At bedtime and stuff. Or when I was crying.” He mumbled.

 

Derek makes that head-bobbing movement again, and Stiles finds he’s okay with that. They don’t need to talk. There’s a connection between them- not friendship, not something weirdly sci-fi telepathical or anything- just... Comprehension. They understand each other, on some other level than the way they interact on a normal day.

 

Because this sure as hell isn’t a normal day.

 

Finally, Derek nudges him again.

 

“Come on.” He says, and starts walking.

 

Stiles lingers for a moment.

 

“Love you, mom. You get it?” He mumbles, jerking his head back towards Derek while looking at her headstone.

 

It was I care about him, I think, and I think he might maybe possibly care about me too. Today’s not the day for hugs and kisses and stuff but some day might be that day. That’s okay, right? He’s a good guy. Once you get to know him a little. He does good. Love you. See you next time.

 

Because these were the things Stiles can’t say out loud. Not with Derek so close, not with the fear of being heard. But also because he hasn’t exactly puzzled out his own feelings. Call it 82% sure.

 

Right.

 

Stiles runs to catch up with Derek, and then they’re getting into the Camaro. Stiles is hesitant about getting Derek’s seats wet- it’s a damn nice car, after all- but Derek doesn’t seem tentative about it at all and gets in like he’s not dripping from head to toe.

 

Yeah. Not today, maybe, but another day, Stiles thinks, he could love Derek. He hopes his mom sees Derek the way Stiles does. Sees how deserving of love he really is.

 

Stiles reaches over to turn on the radio and the heat, and Derek doesn’t stop him, just watches with an impassive expression out of his windshield.

 

Goodnight my angel, now it's time to dream

And dream how wonderful your life will be

Someday your child may cry, and if you sing this lullaby

Then in your heart there will always be a part of me

Someday we'll all be gone

But lullabies go on and on

They never die

That's how you and I will be

 

-Finis-

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed. ^^;; Just a little preslash thing that happened because I hadn't listened to this song in a long time and whoops, headcannons.
> 
> Basically. XD


End file.
